Unfinished Business
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #18-B (This late addition to my Star Trek: Beyond series belongs between story #18 and story #19.) While awaiting completion of the new Enterprise, a despondent Kirk receives a cryptic message that draws him into an unexpected adventure.


_Note: The character Sola Thane was created by Sondra Marshak and Myrna Culbreath in the novel "Triangle". Parts of my story refer to elements in their book._

…A crippled, flaming bird slowly descended from an alien sky. Turning from the painful sight, the runner stumbled and caught himself against a half-uprooted tree. Fierce gusts of wind blew dust into his eyes, but he dashed on until he arrived at a hilltop and sighted the sleek black object at its summit. Shock tingled through his body. Reaching for his phaser, he slowly approached the torpedo casing that was Spock's tomb.

The seal was broken. A bit of black cloth protruded from the lid. _Spock's burial robe?_ Heart slamming, he forced himself to touch the smooth casing lid, to grip it, and to slowly lift it upward.

From the darkness within, came sudden movement—a huge shape exploded at him!

"Kruge!" he cried as the Klingon's dagger sank hilt-deep into his chest…

Jim Kirk awoke gasping, the sickening slice of cold steel echoing through his heart as the dream terror receded, leaving him to the lonely reality of his San Francisco apartment. For a moment he lay still, just staring at the embers in his hearth, remembering. Then abruptly he swung his legs from the couch and sat up.

"David," he groaned, covering his face with his hands. Murdered by a Klingon knife—gone—his young body consumed in the death throes of the Genesis planet, David's own creation gone mad. For him there would be no return.

Would he ever think of David without bitter regret? His son, his life that might have been. Their brief time together had been wasted in conflict. Now it was too late.

With an effort, Kirk pulled himself from the useless spiral of self-recrimination and sorrow. Inactivity was doing this to him. His nature demanded the healing force of action, but there had been too much time for brooding as he awaited completion of the new _Enterprise_. And now this.

Putting on his antique glasses, he winced, recalling the exorbitant price charged by that old lens-grinder in Chinatown. But the fresh optical glass brought the subspace printout into sharp focus: the single perplexing line that had intrigued him over the long course of the evening.

 **Spaceport City of Kerm**

 **Neldja**

 **James T. Kirk:**

 **Time now for returning favors. Hurry, Sola needs you.**

Just Sola. Not Federation Free Agent Sola Thane or So'lathane, but Kirk sensed at some nameless level that it was her. Yet how was that possible? Her tawny head lifted, she had said in parting, "I cannot come back." And he had believed her.

Kirk reached for the phone. His call obviously dragged McCoy from bed. On the screen, the doctor looked worn and rumpled, and Kirk suspected his dreams had not been pleasant ones, either.

McCoy did not object to having his sleep disturbed. "Jim!" he said, surprised. "What's goin' on?"

This was not the sort of thing one discussed over the phone, so Kirk invited him over for a nightcap.

oooo

"She claimed there was no return from the collective mind," McCoy recalled, examining the message for himself. He had hurried to his friend's apartment, not quite knowing what to expect. Certainly not this. "Jim, even if it is _the_ Sola Thane, and if she has somehow managed to extricate herself from the Totality, she's not exactly the helpless type. There's no tellin' who sent that; it might very well be a hoax…or a trap."

Kirk stared out his windows at the city lights across the bay. "True. Neldja is such a pleasant, nondescript little world…and there's no overt mention of danger. No mention of Spock, either. Only me."

McCoy fingered his temples, as if pained by Vulcan mind-tracks lingering in his mind. Not for the first time, Kirk wondered what it must have been like to actually share Spock's _katra_ —an ethereal channel to the Vulcan's consciousness.

The doctor collected himself and said, "If Sola really is behind this, she probably knows that he died. After all, it was big news."

"Or she sensed it through some sort of bond they shared."

McCoy shrugged. "Who knows? Either way, it's just as well…now that Spock has found himself a lady friend."

"Yes, Lauren." Kirk sometimes wondered about Spock's relationship with the lovely Doctor Fielding, but for now he brushed it aside. "So if this _is_ Sola Thane…and she is actually in some kind of danger, how can I just stand here and do nothing?"

McCoy poured himself a stiff bourbon, then rejoined Kirk at the windows. Watching a shuttle glide smoothly above the water, he sighed, "You're not goin' alone…"

oooo

He had destroyed the _Enterprise_. It mattered little that the finest ship in the fleet had been destined for scrap, anyway; Command took a dim view of high level theft and insubordination. He was lucky they had only busted him to captain, and Kirk knew better than to go begging for a Starfleet vessel for a personal mission.

There were two other choices. Simply sneak off by himself and book passage on a liner, or accept help from his friends again. "Friends" in the plural, for by now there was another interested party, thanks to a certain talkative physician.

The morning was still young when Kirk received an unexpected call from Montgomery Scott. "I know just what we're needin'," beamed the engineer on the phone screen. "There's a craft ye'll have to see to believe, a sweet little number, right around the corner at San Francisco Spaceport. The old U.S.S. _Crockett_. 'Twill suit us just fine."

 _We? Us?_ Kirk smiled politely. The _Crockett_ was from his dad's era, which said something about her age. Scotty was always getting carried away over some engineering relic.

"She's civilian now," Scott blithely explained. "Belongs to an' old an' dear acquaintance. With a wee bit o' persuasion, I might finagle her for a run."

Rather than bruise Scotty's feelings, Kirk agreed to look the ship over that very day. From the outside, the _Crockett_ seemed like any other scouter of her class and era, but climbing in, he marveled at the fine job of refitting. What had once served as cramped, austere quarters for a crew of eight, now could quite comfortably accommodate half that number. There was a spacious sense of luxury—plush wine carpeting and soft upholstery, wood paneling and even a mural.

"Decadent," remarked Kirk, raising a noncommittal eyebrow.

"Oh, she's space-worthy, as well." Scott proudly led the way to the control cabin and pointed out the updated equipment. "Warp capable to six, cruises at four. She purrs like a well-fed tribble."

Seeing the care lavished on the ship, Kirk had no further doubt in that regard. Scott had been right; the _Crockett_ was anything but a rickety museum piece. All at once he wanted her so badly that he could scarcely tear his eyes from the polished burl wood instrument panels.

"Scotty," he declared with feeling, "if you can 'finagle' it, you're in."

Just two days later, the well-supplied _Crockett_ slipped through a dank Frisco fog into the black reaches of space. With three people aboard for the "pleasure cruise", Kirk devised a schedule allowing eight straight hours of sleep in every twenty-four, with alternating four hour watches. The arrangement worked well once Doctor McCoy became familiarized with equipment far different from that in sickbay. As the hours stretched, the three friends were drawn to each other's company, and rarely was any man alone in the control cabin.

All three were present when the cloud-shrouded orb of Neldja finally appeared on the viewscreen. It was a most welcome sight. A week of uneventful space cruising had made the men eager for solid ground and open spaces.

The _Crockett_ swiftly touched down on a landing strip at Kerm port. After logging their entry with the port master, a very casual procedure, the men set out to enjoy the fresh alien springtime. Neldja's pale blue sky and rolling hills seemed downright Earthlike. Kirk had only to drink in the sweet air to know he had been right in coming.

As they walked into town, McCoy moved to his side. "Feeling anything…psionic?"

Kirk shrugged. "I'm not sure. What would any normal human male feel in this situation? Tense, hopeful…but I can't help but think that we're headed in the right direction."

McCoy nodded in understanding as he admired a lacework of delicate blossoms planted in a nearby window box. "This place isn't exactly sinister, is it? And the natives—well, rather simple, judging by those saccharine smiles."

In a low voice, Scott remarked, "They all look a wee bit daft."

"So it would seem," Kirk said, turning right at the first intersection.

The Neldjans they passed all smiled graciously, patting their fuzzy blond heads in greeting. Respecting local custom, Kirk and his companions returned the gestures.

"Ach," Scott growled, "this is embarrassing."

"Just smile," Kirk urged, patting the top of his head. "It could be worse. Remember Duren 3?"

McCoy snorted. "They didn't go in for head-tapping there! I about decked the first little fellow who smacked me on the—"

They all heard the scream. Piercing and feminine, it shattered the midday serenity.

Kirk glanced overhead to see a woman dragged away from an upper story window, and he shouted, "Sola!'

Charging into the narrow apartment building, he ran upstairs, only vaguely aware of Scott and McCoy coming behind him. At the head of the stairs, he heard another scream that led him to the correct apartment, and kicked the flimsy door open.

A bedraggled-looking female stood in the grip of the biggest, ugliest Belsarian that Kirk had ever seen. He stopped in his tracks. Scott and McCoy nearly slammed into him. There was a concerted intake of breath, then good human anger hardened their faces.

Kirk met Sola's unflinching eyes, gauged the pressure of that massive arm held to her throat, and poised himself.

The eight-foot-tall Belsarian grunted. "Clear out of here before I crush her scrawny neck…and tear you puny runts to pieces!"

It was not an occasion for subtlety. Federation Free Agent Sola Thane had somehow gotten herself into more trouble than she—or the four of them together—could easily handle.

There was only one solution.

Kirk whipped a phaser from his pocket and fired. The stunning ray struck the Belsarian's bullish neck, and travelled through his body to Sola. Rushing forward, Kirk snatched the slim half-Zaran from the collapsing behemoth, who crashed bonelessly to the floor. Dirty, bruised, and tattered, Sola seemed to barely fill his arms as he hugged her to him in a fierce rush of emotion.

McCoy pulled out a medscanner and gave her a cursory exam. "She'll be fine," he determined. "Let's get out of here before King Kong wakes up."

"Aye." Scott gave the snoring Belsarian a wary glance. "'Twas a rare bit o' luck to find her so soon; let's not press it."

Still holding Sola, Kirk gazed tenderly at her smudged face. "No, Scotty. It was something quite different from luck."

oooo

Wracked with headache and nausea, Sola opened her eyes, groaned, and burrowed back under the covers. "Phaser stun?"

Kirk was at her side. "Yes, sorry. I saw no other choice."

"Don't be sorry," she said in a muffled voice. "What about Korm? The Belsarian?"

"Hurting, I hope. We gave him a good parting shot, really knocked him on his ass."

Sola rolled over, her tawny mane spreading across the pillow. "Jim…"

Smiling, Kirk touched her cheek. "Rest easy, Sola. Eventually, everyone needs a little help." And hoping it was true, he added, "You're safe aboard ship."

She glanced around the plush cabin in obvious confusion. "This…isn't the _Enterprise_."

Pained, he looked away. "No. It's not." Plenty of time for explanations later. His mood darkening, he watched the Zaran slip back into a groggy sleep, then joined McCoy and Scott in the lounge.

"Grounded!" McCoy was fuming. "How dare they accuse _us_ of assault and abduction?"

Kirk sank into a recliner and turned his thoughts to this latest problem. Apparently the Neldjans were sharper than they looked. It had not taken them long to surround the _Crockett_.

"Refusin' clearance for liftoff!" Scott railed. "Callin' the lass 'stolen property'! Haven't they heard that slavery's illegal on Federation planets?"

Kirk intervened in a deliberately calm voice. "Technically, it's not slavery. This Belsarian—'Korm', Sola called him—claims she was in his employment, working out a debt for passage on his ship. She must have been desperate to sign such an agreement."

"The same old miserable story, "Scott said sourly, "an' perfectly legal in some corners of the galaxy."

"Maybe we can buy Korm off," suggested McCoy.

Kirk looked at him. "Too late for that now, Bones. He won't be satisfied until our hides are tacked to his wall. And I, for one, don't intend to give him that pleasure." He turned to the engineer. "Scotty, what do you have on this planet's defense and security systems?"

The portly Scotsman shook his head. "These bloomin' Neldjans have a tractor network and policing system patterned after Vulcan, of all places."

Kirk met McCoy's gaze, and despite his worries, broke into a lopsided grin. "Talk about the snarths coming home to nest. I'm not surprised, Scotty, considering it was Spock who designed that system fifteen years ago when Neldja joined the Federation."

Scott remembered then. "Aye, of course. The Klingons were breathin' down their placid little necks."

"Their system might be Vulcan inspired," Kirk thought aloud, "but all those years of Neldjan lassitude have surely had their effect. Study it, Scotty. If you can find a weakness, and we'll shoot for it."

oooo

Sola awoke to find Jim Kirk reading at her bedside, too absorbed in his book to notice her studying him. He was changed. Not so much physically, or even those funny glassed he wore now, but through some alteration deep inside. She sensed a profound sadness that had not been there before. _It's about Spock,_ she thought, and reaching out, touched his knee.

He put down his book and glasses. "Feeling better?"

"Feeling embarrassed. I don't usually need rescuing."

He smiled. "I know what you mean. This time, the pleasure was mine, Sola."

For a moment they just looked at one another. It was still there—the same warming energy that had flowed between them at their first meeting, and had somehow guided his footsteps straight toward the building where she was being held. That much had not changed. There was no need to speak as Kirk leaned over and touched his lips to hers. He caught his breath, kissing her hard and deep, and she responded with a heat of passion too long denied.

But a vision of dark, flaming eyes and powerful arms came unbidden to Sola, stubbornly holding to a corner of her mind. Kirk pulled away and gazed down at her. If he had sensed the course of her thoughts, she found no sign of it, and was grateful.

His voice was husky as he said, "I've been wanting to do that for a very long time."

"And I've been waiting," she answered. Then, with a sigh, "I have to get back to Headquarters."

"That might be a while," Kirk said. After explaining why they were stuck in the landing port, he reluctantly stood up. "I'll go check on the situation now."

Alone, Sola freshened herself in the sonic shower and selected a comfortable jumpsuit in the fabricator program. The clingy blue material hugged every lean curve of her body. Quickly brushing her tawny mane, she emerged from her cabin.

Kirk went to his feet as she entered the lounge, where he had been discussing their legal situation with McCoy. "No breakthrough yet," he said, gently grasping her hand.

As the pair gazed at one another, Doctor McCoy viewed his patient with medical—and male—appreciation. Having dealt with Sola in the past, he knew her natural resilience and was not surprised to find her bruises already fading into a blush of vibrant health. Like Spock, another tough hybrid, she seemed nearly indestructible. But this was something more than genetics. McCoy recognized the focusing energy of a Zaran huntress. Sola was on the brink of psionic call, and Jim was rising to the challenge.

 _Here we go again,_ thought McCoy. Years ago, he'd had his own experience with a Zaran named Nahfia. The memory of her death still pained him.

"Captain!" Scott called from the control cabin. "Come see this!"

Kirk tore his eyes from Sola and entered the nerve center of the ship. On a sensor panel was clear pattern of tractor scan fadeout.

"There's a cyclin' malfunction," Scott reported, "every four-point-three minutes." His astonished eyes settled on Sola Thane as she walked in. The bedraggled woman had transformed into a lithe, stunning creature.

Kirk drew his attention back to the business at hand. "Scotty, we're going to shoot for that hole. Now, before these Neldjans sprout the gumption to storm our ship."

Using _Crockett's_ computer, they timed their liftoff to the second. As the ship roared from her pad, Scott bore down on the thrusters, blasting all planetary speed laws. They hit the intended corridor at full impulse power and squeaked through unmolested as a Neldjan security craft impotently tangled in an active area of the planet's tractor net. Seated beside Scott, Kirk turned a deaf ear to the demands heating the transceiver, and he engaged warp drive. The view screen readjusted, showing a brilliant field of stars with clear sailing ahead.

oooo

Later that day in his cabin, Kirk poured two glasses of Andorian wine, and handed one to Sola. That a man of his years and experience, a former admiral, should harbor pangs of hero-worship was embarrassing. But his admiration for Free Agents was unshakable, and as deep as his attraction to Sola Thane, woman.

As they stood sipping the wine, a long look passed between them.

After a moment she said, "I never thanked you, Jim…or explained." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she dredged up unpleasant memories. "I went to the Totality because I had no choice. You know that. I remain firmly convinced of the value of individual consciousness." In a low voice she admitted, "I was miserable there. I was struggling to find some way out when an inner revolt rocked the Totality—enough to weaken it, turn the Mind in on itself, away from conquest. I was preparing an escape when…I felt _him_." Her eyes glazed with pain. "A scream of death. Agonized. Astonished."

Kirk's mouth formed the name. "Spock."

So she did know of his death. And somehow the trauma of Spock dying had jolted her free of the collective. Her love for the Vulcan.

Kirk knew a moment of unashamed, savage jealousy. He had crossed the galaxy, jeopardized himself and his friends for this woman whose heart belonged to Spock.

Reading him like one of his books, Sola faced Kirk with her own share of anger. "Yes, Spock! His distress touched me as it did once before. Back then, I went to him. Not out of charity or pity, or even the wish to save the Vulcan from his physiology. I went to Spock because I wanted him. More—I _needed_ him."

"I know!" Kirk snapped, surprised at how much it still hurt. "I gave you to Spock knowing that, and him to you. That didn't make it any easier."

Sola's eyes flamed. "Spock was never yours to give. Do not confuse loyalty with the man."

Surging with emotion, Kirk stepped toward the defiant Zaran. From the beginning this fire had been rightly his, but he had only warmed his hands in it, while Spock—

Wordlessly, he caught Sola to him. His mouth closed over hers, tasting the wine sweet on her lips. He bent her back and down onto his bed, and she did not resist the frailer human strength. For a moment Kirk abandoned himself to the pleasure of her lithe body and urgent caresses, inhaling the alien scent of her skin and mane. Beneath him she arched her back, brushing fingers through his hair, to his temples.

Kirk gasped as her mind flamed into his. There was a brief riptide of passion before his world exploded in pain.

The blast of Zaran rage seared him and he recoiled, forcibly gathering his thoughts to himself. He became the Jim Kirk he knew, safe and solitary…and deeply ashamed.

Sola roughly cast him off, and leaping to her feet with the grace of a jungle cat, confronted him. _"Why didn't you tell me he's alive?"_

Kirk gave no answer. Any excuse would ring hollow, now that they had shared thoughts. Sola knew why he had kept the news of Spock's re-fusion to himself. Quietly he rose and walked out of the cabin.

Alone, Sola threw herself on the bed. Twisting her fingers into the fabric warmed by their bodies, she choked down a sob. Kirk's son murdered, his ship destroyed—Sola's mind reeled with the shocks Jim had given her. In their joining, she had expected to find Spock's death; she had prepared herself for that. Spock. The strong one. The one she had trusted to preserve himself, and not only himself, but Kirk. Well, in the end that had not been possible. Spock had faced his trial, his choice, and like Sola had sacrificed himself.

But like her, he had returned. Spock _lived!_ And Kirk had deliberately kept this knowledge from her—not to spare her the rumor of Spock's involvement with an Earth woman, but for his own personal advantage.

Sola wept from joy and anger.

oooo

In the hours that followed, Kirk vacillated between a deep desire to punish Sola, punish himself, or even—if that were possible—punish Spock. From the beginning, there had been three of them, their relationship complicated and unstable, but always reforming into a triangle. They had supported one another. They had fought for one another. They had loved one another.

Now, at the heart of things, there was a miserable entanglement. Kirk had played hard and dirty, and Sola's outrage was no match for his self-contempt.

The moment came when she coolly requested a detour to the nearest outpost. As a Free Agent, she could order it. As it turned out, that wasn't necessary.

It was a very silent ship that landed on the colony world of Ildarani. Sola came out of her cabin to find her three rescuers gathered into an uneasy group beside the hatchway.

"I'm leaving now," she quietly announced.

Scott nodded, sad but unsurprised.

McCoy shot Kirk a sympathetic glance that the captain missed altogether. Kirk was settling into a black mood, overwhelmed by the painful reality that Sola Thane was walking out of his life again. And he did not know how to stop her, or even if he should.

Sola encompassed all three men with one sweeping look, but then her eyes settled on Kirk. "Don't think me ungrateful. You've saved more than my life, and I thank you. Safe journey."

Kirk felt his world collapsing and choked out, "Sola…I'm sorry."

But she slipped from the Crockett, into the subtropical settlement of New Florida.

oooo

On the slimmest of hopes that Sola might return, Kirk decided to keep the ship grounded for twenty-hour hours. Sleep eluded him that night, and long after the others had gone to bed, his solitary figure could be seen in the lounge, hunched over a chess board. Left to his private agonies, he toyed with the chessmen, experimenting with opening gambits, and replacing the onyx figures back into orderly ranks. There was some small comfort in a universe that could so easily be set to rights, even if it only encompassed a game board. No wonder Spock enjoyed chess.

"Sorry, friend," he whispered to the absent Vulcan. It had been an unworthy move, though a human one. He had said it before: _I don't like to lose._ And lately he had lost far too much.

With a sigh, he got up and opened the main hatch for some fresh air, damp and heavy with the scent of vegetation. Outside, a faint suggestion of dawn tinted the horizon. There was a wild beauty to this alien land, but weighed down with sorrow, he was scarcely able to appreciate it.

Kirk watched until the eastern stars began to fade, then he climbed out and secured the hatch behind him. A cool breeze riffled his hair as the first blush of day came alive with the wakening cries of native creatures. He turned to the nearby treeclan and thought of the dangers lurking just beyond the spaceport fence. Almost without thinking, he began to walk toward it. Madness perhaps, but somehow he felt drawn to just such a challenge.

oooo

In the Monastery of the Holy Angels, Brother Brendan rose from his narrow bed and donned a simple brown robe. Taking up a handheld bell, he walked out into the corridor and rang it vigorously as he repeatedly called out, "Let us bless the Lord!"

From behind closed doors came the stirring of his fellow monks as their voices responded, "Thanks be to God!"

The bell went still. One by one, the monks swiftly completed their morning ablutions, emerged from their rooms, and silently headed toward the chapel.

oooo

Kirk put the settlement behind him, and moved into the wild regions of Ildarani. As he entered the treeclan, his skin prickled at the thought of impending danger; there were many perils in this strange colony world where Spock's daughter, T'Beth, had spent the early years of her childhood. Preparing himself, he acknowledged that perhaps the greatest danger was the darkness within him—the barely contained roiling of loss and anger.

Alone among the mysterious, sentient Treeple, he loudly cried out, "Why, _why?"_

A fading yellow moon peeked through the dense canopy of branches. Dark shapes swept across its surface—keening night fliers on their way home? In his mind's eye he envisioned a dark tendril whipping out to ensnare his ankle, bringing him down hard. He saw himself rolling into a defensive posture to meet his attacker. The bengati serpent was a thick band of steely muscle, a smooth black coil that could encircle a leg with crushing force. He could almost hear his agonized gasp as he was jerked flat and pulled toward a shadowy nightmare. Then the serpent's head drawing him closer, a shark-mouth with glittering rows of razor teeth menacing him as he dug his heels into the soft dirt. The bengati would only tug harder.

Which of them would win? Which of them would die? Did he even care?

Caught up in his morbid fantasy, he tripped and fell headlong onto the unyielding treeclan floor.

The unlikely sound of a church bell broke into his thoughts. And then, quite nearby, the sound of something moving along the trail.

Heart pounding, he leapt to his feet and strained to make out an approaching figure. By the faint light of dawn, he beheld a strange, two-headed creature.

oooo

Seated atop his buckskin mule, Brother Brendan switched on a flashlight and directed its beam over the dirt-smudged man standing directly ahead. This was not the first time he had heard desperate human cries from the treeclan bordering the monastery. Drunken men and venturous youths, not all of whom survived the dark, perilous hours.

This latest find squinted in the sweep of the flashlight, and as the beam turned downward, seemed relieved to find only a human like himself.

"Sir, are you in need of assistance?" Brendan asked in a kindly tone.

"Yes…yes, I think I am," the man grudgingly admitted.

Brendan held out one hand and said, "Come with me."

After briefly wavering, the stranger walked over and climbed up behind him. The mule gave a grunt of protest at the added weight, but then obediently turned and headed back down the trail. At first they moved silently along, but then Brendan engaged in some simple conversation. By the time they arrived at the monastery, he had determined that the fellow's name was Jim and he was not drunk, but clearly despondent. A soothing chant of Lauds drifted from the chapel as he escorted the middle-aged man into the kitchen and set a cup of coffee and a plate of toast before him. Then, as such people often did, Jim divulged a tale of woe common to humankind.

A son, murdered. A career setback. A failed romantic relationship.

Gently, Brendan tried to turn Jim's focus from his misery, to the only true Source of peace. And as Jim downed the last swallow of coffee, he hesitantly accepted an invitation to morning Mass.

oooo

Was he dreaming? Had he died?

Numbly, Kirk followed the surreal Brother Brendan through spartan corridors, to a small but ornate chapel. He had never before set foot in a Catholic church, and his staunchly Protestant ancestors would have been dismayed at how little religious instruction he had received as a child. Yet now, in the midst of these pious monks, with candles flickering upon an altar overshadowed by the crucified figure of Christ, he experienced a strange inner stirring. His eyes settled on an alcove where a lifelike statue of the Virgin Mary seemed to gaze upon him serenely—the very image of chaste womanhood.

There was scarcely time to consider any of it before one of the monks, vested for the ancient ritual, entered the sanctuary and began the Mass. All during the soothing interval of prayer and song, time seemed to stand still and much of the heaviness left his heart, as if a caring hand had reached down and swept the pain away. A part of him would have dearly wished to remain in this mysterious place forever, but responsibility called. So at the end of Mass, he joined Brother Brendan atop the mule and was borne to the edge of the spaceport where he thanked his kind benefactor and headed back to the Crockett.

oooo

Scott opened the hatch, his eyes crinkling at the sight of Kirk's rumpled, dirt-streaked clothes. "Well, look what the day has brought. Must've been one interestin' night."

Kirk took the ribbing in good-natured silence, and went inside.

McCoy saw the fatigue, then beyond it to a measure of restored peace. Whatever battle had been waged, the captain had emerged unbeaten. For now, he drew his own conclusions. "You found Sola, didn't you?"

"I wasn't looking for her," he said, folding wearily into a chair and stretching out his legs.

"Then she found you."

He shook his head and leaned back into the cushions.

McCoy chuckled. "Well, you've been up to _something_."

"Aye," said Scott, tugging thoughtfully on his moustache. "A bit o' female solace, I'll wager."

Remembering the serene, motherly statue of Mary, Kirk met the gleam in Scott's eyes. "You might say so. But not the sort you have in mind, Scotty."

Scott and McCoy hooted in disbelief, but Kirk said no more about it. While Scott readied the ship for liftoff, his thoughts drifted back over the dreamlike dawn interlude. In the early morning hours he had somehow turned a corner and put the past behind him. As he felt himself dozing off, he knew that he would sleep peacefully, this time.

oooOOooo


End file.
